Bella of Kentworthy
by thedreamclubmurders
Summary: Bella has always been a defiant girl. She's got a sharp tongue and enough wit to feed a starving third world country. Then there's this Prince, arrogant and conceited it seems, but when he meets Bella, the world turns upside down.
1. Chapter 1

According to Madame E'tat, my long-standing Governess, there are three important things that make a girl into a woman, and a woman into a lady.

One; she must posses poise, elegance, dignity, and liquid perfection when she walks.

Two; in the company of men, she must hold her tongue and nod affectionately, occasionally batting her eyelashes for added effect.

Three; no matter what, under any circumstance necessary, she must yield to her parents', and soon her husband's desire. She will come after everyone else, and self-importance should be distant to her vocabulary.

Needless to say, I've already failed on three accounts in my how-to-be-a-lady training. Instead of adopting Madame E'tat's degrading rules, I have developed my own; hers simply pale in comparison.

One; anything involving graceful demeanor shall be evicted permanently from my life. I am denouncing it with a steady proclamation that to turn one such as myself into "refined" would be a threat to humanity. God knows the amount of people I would massacre with all those different fancy knives and forks.

Two; in the company of men, I become a man. Not literally, of course, but I've more or less adapted the typical conversational skills of a teenage boy. Grunting when displeased and scratching myself at leisure is more appealing then daintily folding napkins and pursing my lips. To hell with men and their ideals, I've got my own to exercise. I'd quicker run through the streets of Kentworthy naked than hold my tongue or nod affectionately at anyone. Not even my beloved teddy bear, Soren. 

Three; the day that I yield to even the smallest little twig in my path shall be the day forever remembered as Doomsday. In other words, the end of the world would come quicker. Self-importance is my vocabulary, and I exercise it quite amusingly. There is nothing more satisfying than the look of abhorrence on the face of one's suitor when that is made evident. Especially if one is at the ripe age of 14, and the suitor has far passed his expiration date.

Here I finish the first entrance of my journal with a general synopsis of what my life is like. Perhaps you will be able to derive other truths within the text, but be careful. They say the devil reads between the lines for a reason.


	2. Courting Pigs

Day the second of my frivolous adventure with this leather-bound journal. When I last jotted down… er, my discrepancies, I suppose we'll call them, the page was left blank of anything else in regards to my life. Now it is incumbent upon me, then, to divulge more of myself so that the unfortunate soul whom this book stumbles upon many years later will be able to capture my essence in imagination so well.

I warn you, though; my soul is perhaps not one you'd like to capture. In anything.

Not the most entertaining of lives do I live, but on the rare occasion a spectacle of hilarity presents itself in full. Mornings start before the sun rises, and nights begin when the moon illuminates every corner of the sky; what goes on in the time between the two is less interesting than the disgustingly large blister growing on the backside of a horse's hoof.

The title by which my relatives, along with Madame E'tat and any other self-respecting member of society call me is Bella of Kentworthy; but the true name lies within the beholder, no? I have a brother by name of Janson, only two years my senior, and he has adequately bestowed a name upon me even God himself could not conjure to fit such a satirical personality as mine. Lucifer – Luci for short, of course.

See what I meant when I told you the devil reads between the lines? It should be noted that my face curves into a sardonic grin as I am writing this. Oh journal how your lack of knowledge amuses me so. In time you shall come to know me, to understand my rash decisions, and to accept my un-ladylike behavior. The rest of society seems to be showing no slack for the latter.

What they think hardly matters though, journal, for they are all a bunch of pompous, prejudiced, pedigreed twits.

Before telling you anymore about my sadly uninteresting life, I'd like to make an author's note, in some respects. Journal, sweet journal, do not feel sorry for me. I neither need nor take pity. There is nothing tragic about the story of my existence, no matter what scruples you may form.

I enjoy every minute of it, and shall continue to do so until it leads me right into an early grave. At least preferably. I'd hate to wither and parish old, for I more than anyone else understands how grotesque the senile woman down the street can seem to bubbling youth. God forbid I ever am that woman.

Putting an end to that particular digression, I avert my writing back to the core plot of my day. The sun woke me with brute force, beating down on the beads of sweat on my forehead with no mercy. Everything that came after that is not worth delving into, for I assure you the climax of today was locked in those beads of sweat.

There was, however, something worth evaluation that took part during dinner. My brother, Janson, was called upon by the lady three houses down. Apparently she's the daughter of a high-status Baroness, and "just the right match for Janson", as mother put it.

As for personal preference, Janson is repelled by her, and I can't say I'm in opposition to such an opinion. Her hygiene lacks the proper attention, her negligence is extended through her clothes and her manners, but above all – she looks like a barnyard animal.

Those words were craftily derived from the fruit of my brother's lips upon first seeing the lady's face.

All the same, purely out of respect my mother graciously accepted the offer of attending the Baroness' famous balls next week, much in defiance of Janson's gagging noises in the background. Such impeccable timing it would be that in the midst of this charade, the soup was being served, and gave him a plausible scapegoat for his behavior lest the Baroness or her daughter were to notice.

It is brilliant how my brother thinks in steps far ahead his actions. How I envy him for such tactic, journal. But a sister can never envy her brother without a hint of admiration, so I suppose I'll live.

Night is upon us now, and I'm afraid my callous hands are too drained for more script. Await my adventure tomorrow, and perhaps more news on this lady courting my brother. Until then, let dreams conquer your reality and lift you into a place where you cannot be touched. Goodnight, precious journal.


	3. Tongue in cheek

If I knew, this morning upon waking, how awful today was to be, then I assure you, dear journal, I would have hastily pulled the covers over my head and let rest to my eyelids with an inconsiderate pout. Tragedy, and more or less chaos, is something I cannot deal with using proper etiquette and grace. Instead, I fold underneath the pressure of such disastrous events, and settle right into my masculine role through yelling and cursing loudly like my father.

Sure, I've heard we share similarities, but never did I expect the bond between father and daughter to be locked within unorthodox words and inventive phrases that involve cow manure and three foot shovels. Let's have the Doctor of Kentworthy try to remove _that_ nasty bugger.

Anyway, after regretfully opening my eyes and stifling a yawn innocent to the day's catastrophes, I proceeded to wash myself in the giant tub mum leaves in the backroom of our family's barn. Yes, I am aware that I should be using the bejeweled bathtub fit for nothing less than a lady, but journal, oh it's so uncomfortable! It's small enough to fit a baby (and I mean _baby_) mare, which inadvertently is the definition of a child horse I'm aware (cut me some slack here, I'm trying to use words to emphasize images, since this is but my own accounts in a journal), but I am much larger than that. Why, when I do sit in that godforsaken bath tub, my legs curl up to my chest and I look like a grown girl trying to fit into her baby sister's crib. How come mother doesn't find _that_ to be unladylike!

To make my point simple, the tub in the barn is much larger, and of much more leisure to me.

Lucky for me, my mother happened to stroll by the aft entrance to the barn and spot my chocolate tresses just as I was slipping out of that sinfully delightful tub. Curse her sharp eyes.

Oh journal she screamed up a storm! I never laughed so hard in my life. Let me tell you, my sides were aching with pain, as my shaking hands clutched them with little to none rectitude for my mother's horrified face. Shortly after this incident, however, I heard her muttering something about the Prince being sorely disappointed as she hurried me back into the house. The Prince, journal?

Now why would the Prince be disappointed in one of his lesser subjects (being me) for bathing in the barn? Honestly, sometimes I fear I'll never understand the strange ways of my mother.

Janson was waiting inside by the foyer when mother and I came in, my face still rosy from laughter. He must have noticed this peculiarity, because as soon as mum dashed out of the room to tell father how their child had shamed them by cleansing herself in the same room as the horses fornicate, he rushed over to me and I collapsed in his arms with laughter. After explaining to him what I'd done to bring such horror to our dear mother, Janson joined me in my hyena cries.

"You silly girl, when will you ever learn?" He said to me through chuckles. It was our little joke for him to patronize me much like we knew our father would after he heard the news.

Sometimes having a sibling willing to poke fun at you is the greatest gift in life. I shall get you a sibling, journal, one that tracks my life after your pages are filled to the brim with the adventures of Bella, or Luci.

Which name would you prefer, journal? How about I take on the alias of Luci when I am angry, fuming beyond all possible words created to express madness; I shall be Bella only when my moods digress from anger, taking on anything but rage?

It's a done deal, even without your input (please note my amused smile).

Mother returned with an outraged father in her wake, and even Janson knew better than to make a witty remark about my behaviors earlier that morning. The room fell silent, and once father gave 'the nod' to mum, she latched herself onto Janson's arm and they scurried out, my brother more or less dragging himself rather than scurrying like the mouse of a mother we had. Father took three booming steps forward and pursed his lips, hooking his hands behind his back, and lifted up his chin defiantly. Here is where I knew today was going to the dogs, precious journal.

"Your mother tells me that this morning you took—," he paused wearily, "took a bath, in the barn. Is this preposterous accusation true?"

I know it is of no use by now journal, but do you think I should have kept my mouth shut then? Well I still don't. I gave him a smart remark and do not feel remorse for it, call me anarchic if you will.

"Is it preposterous then, father, that I should want to fancy myself in a much more comfortable tub than the constricting and disgustingly frivolous one mum indulges herself in so conceitedly? I apologize for showing humility, if this is the case." My tone was even, as usual. Sarcasm sits smugly under my belt, journal, did you know?

Apparently father was in no mood for my snide remarks today, for he lashed forward and grabbed a chunk of my hair. This is not unusual, but it was unexpected. Believe me when I say the shock is still written in paragraphs of worry on my forehead. He nearly spat in my face, words dripping with a kind of venomous disposition I have **never** known my father to have; he was seething.

"How am I supposed to marry off a daughter with a smart mouth like that? Do you really think any man will want a woman who has a rebuttal for _everything_ he says? You're just like your aunt, and you saw how she turned out. Take a lesson from this; learn to hold your tongue." With that, he walked off, those horrible boots of his clanking up a storm all through the foyer. I wasn't thinking about that sound at the moment, though, journal. I was too preoccupied with the prospect of marriage. Father was planning to marry me off? I'm only sixteen, and that's much too young for anything that requires maturity, especially marriage.

And you see, this journal, is why the day was absolutely horrible. God only knows what's in store for tomorrow. Janson overhead the conversation, and made futile attempts to comfort me before bed, but it seems even his calm words could not soothe over the tremulous feeling invoked by my father's words.

I don't want to get married journal, and I like my tongue. Don't you?


	4. Detective Bella

This morning I woke up most egregiously to find my beloved teddy bear of sixteen years, Soren, missing. As soon as my arm felt the empty space beside me, shock inhibited my body and I shot up. I scrambled over to the other side of my bed (very unladylike, mind you), and peered underneath in a desperate attempt to salvage Soren. Yet he was not there.

Nor was he in my closet, lavatory, dresser, or bureau. Somebody had maliciously kidnapped my teddy. I believe that even you spot payback in tow, bittersweet journal.

My mission began once I heard the sound of father's carriage rolling off in the distance; the security of his job ensured that I would not be seeing that buggy again until nightfall. Mother occupied most of her day with needlework and socialization, which left her quite out of my way as well. Whether or not to wake up Janson and inform him of my loss took a heavy amount of contemplation, but once Gregory, our manservant, informed me that my brother had been called to eat breakfast with the Baroness and her frivolous daughter, I resolved on facing the mystery alone.

Who would want to kidnap a ratty old teddy bear, anyhow? Soren's of no monetary worth, and he's certainly not sewn with gold thread, or made of swarthy fabric.

Slipping into Janson's room, I began the daily raid for clothes. Do not worry journal, I am aware of my own gender, but I am also aware of the distinct discomfort languid gowns provide. Breeches and collared shirts are preferable, especially when Janson and I go out riding together. Often times he'd convince merchants and shopkeepers in the village that I was his brother, and oh how we laughed when my hair fell out of father's dragon-hide cap!

Anyhow, journal, I settled on a worn-in pair of breeches (incidentally Janson's favorite), and a white collared shirt. Underneath, of course, it was still incumbent upon me to wrap plastic around my… er, more developed features, to avoid awkward glances as I searched for Soren. Clad in my detective uniform, I grabbed a black cap and coat on my way out of Janson's room. Many years ago the servants had discovered this quirk of mine, and over time developed the skill to simply look the other way when a she-male scampered down the hall toward the doors. Opting to egress through the kitchen, I slid behind Sandy, our resident cook, perched up on a wooden stool with her tiny feet bouncing up and down.

"Oh miss! Look what you've gone and done now. I'm going to have to clean that up you know…" Sandy scolded me with a light tone, as she always did.

If you think I am mischievous now, journal, I suggest you wait adamantly for me to finish today's tale and re-asses my level of roguish tendencies. Note my rueful wink as I write this.

"Sorry," I had to coo gently, whilst making an indiscriminate steal for two scones from Sandy's freshly baked batch on the countertop. She noticed me, yes, but laughed and waved her hand as to excuse my behavior. Winking, I tossed the scones up in the air, caught them in the hem of my shirt, and made a dash for the kitchen door. If only I could be that graceful all the time!

Pausing before our backyard that stretched the size of three cottages, leading all the way back into a steady river that ran through our town, I went over the brief facts of my case. Soren had been resting inanimately next to me last night, tucked under thick layers of sheets. This morning nothing but open space lay in his wake, and the perpetrator left no clues behind to indicate how or why. A teddy bear had been swiped from our mansion, and no one but I bothered to acknowledge the atrocities of it.

Perhaps, journal, I should become a hired detective. No, wait! I shall not compromise my dignity for money! Ex nay on the hired part, then.

As I stood there, engulfed by my ever-constant thoughts of ingenious, I heard an indistinct snap emit from behind me. Swerving around with such force it caused me a moment's disorientation, I was not able to discern the blurry figure that whooshed by me into a thicket of trees; the other side led out into the backyard of our neighbors, the Duke of Lambach and his family. Although I was somehow able to catch the falling scones while partially impaired.

Then again, journal, these were Sandy's famous scones, the ones with blueberry and butter. Oh dear – as I write this my mouth is watering. I would take a moment to run downstairs and fetch another one from the cabinet, but I am confined to upstairs, and for good reason. But we haven't gotten to that part of the story yet, so let me complete what leads up to my predicament now. (just for the record, I'm hiding in mum's _luxurious_ bathtub. I'm sure you remember which one, journal)

Back to before, though. After a minute's reflection, I popped one scone in my mouth and decided to forget about the blurry figure. For all I knew it could have been the Duke's youngest son, Erell; he's always running about like an untamed horse, journal. We used to be childhood mates, but once the pair of us hit thirteen, Erell found it unfashionable to be seen playing in the dirt with a girl. After all, journal, we females seem to have "cooties". Whoever came up with such a vilely false thing?

Ah, but I digress too much. The case of my missing teddy is paramount to a stupid boy.

It was now that I wished Janson was here to join me on this inane but essential plight. A sibling's pull always fails when most needed, eh journal?

Striding forward briskly, I began my search through mother's various perennials and tulips. Whence I came upon a particularly perplexing breed of flower, I (idiotically enough), dropped down on my knees to take a good whiff of it. Journal, if for some unexplainable reason you ever obtain a nose, please shield it with a camouflage mask, and refuse to smell foreign objects; especially flowers. Something came over me, like a rush of… well, suffice it to say, serenity. Oh I must sound like a right fool! I'm sorry journal, but I'm young and reckless. At least that's what my brother would say.

Anyhow, a cacophony of voices erupted in my head after sniffing that godforsaken flower, and I felt my body swaying, but could not seem to grasp control of it. At this I panicked, and began flailing my arms about, trying to yell through a constricted throat. Someone was behind me… someone had their hands around my neck journal…

Father denies it, of course. He said it was just a side-effect of the flower I took in, but to hell with that fictitious excuse. I know very well that someone, or some thing for that matter, had been testing their luck on my life. I was being choked.

I never was chanced to see my attacker, or complete my search for Soren, because my eyes shut and I blacked out. Stupid thing of me to do, really. I suppose it can't be helped though, journal. I will, however, spend this next month of sentenced solitary confinement for "besmirching the family name" practicing how not to black out. Even from lack of oxygen. Hopefully father will allow me to take you along that adventure, for I'd hate to leave you empty of my escapades for an entire month! But let's return to what happened today, yes?

Some hours later I woke up to find myself tied to a wooden plank that stood erect in the middle of a dark room. Breathing in sharply, I squeaked (note that I only do this in dire situations. You mustn't tell anyone, ever! Or else I will burn your pages).

"Oh come off it," I heard a jovial voice retaliate to my outburst.

Journal, it was Erell! The stupid bastard had been playing a trick on me all morning, thinking I was Janson!

"Since when do you make effeminate voices, Janson?" Another voice chimed in. This one was much more regal than the last… much more, controlled, authoritative, but with a hint of compassion it seemed, journal, and easy-going. Erell's voice just sounded like a wild boar's grunt in comparison.

"Since I had an obscure sex change, after much contemplation mind you, under pretence that breasts suit my figure much better, and this massive thing in my pants was taking up too much room. Awful hard riding bareback, you know." I said dryly.

That was my response, journal, verbatim. Even now my cheeks tinge from embarrassment! Do you know to whom that other voice belonged to? Merlin's beard… perhaps I did disgrace the family name. Note that I am enveloped in a swirl of giggles while writing this.

Erell and his companion most likely blanched at my words, and a light was flickered on. 'Tis now that I noticed a plank set up adjacent to me, identical in size and shape to my own, but different in one respect. Tied to it was Soren! Oh my sweet teddy bear. Of course I just had to call out as well, and further tarnish my family's reputation. "Soren!" I cried out gleefully, jerking my body forward to embrace the withering bear. Because I was too occupied to have taken a gander at my surroundings, realization struck too late. Laughter erupted in front of me, a kind of deep, resonating guffaw. Flushing crimson, my ignorant head turned.

There, in front of me, chortling beside Erell, was the Prince. The Prince of bloody Rolan!

Excuse me, sweet journal, for I must take a break in my writing to shake off this perpetual laughter.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I am terribly sorry it took so long for my return, but much has happened since I left your pages open to relieve myself of amusement. Let me backtrack to a point, and pursue explanation from there to avoid further confusion. As you know, the Prince and that blasted Erell saw me chained to a plank, clad in boy's clothes, crying out for my teddy bear (though I am sixteen!), and their laughter would not cease. It boomed and echoed and announced itself without mercy; each hiccup felt like a dagger to the heart.

Shame was my first reaction, but it did not pay homage to me for long. I am Bella of Kentworthy! No – better yet, I am Luci, or Lucifer… but that's not the point! No one can shame me, lest he be a Prince or not! Open up your mouth, Bella, and let that tongue of yours do what it does best.

…

Alright, I will admit that sounded preposterously bad, but I am going to assume, journal, that you do not have a dirtied mind and will read into the sentence no more than what is meant. (sarcasm, you fool!)

"Oh look," my retaliation began, "I should've known it was you, Relish," I snorted and eyed Erell. Relish was a cruel nickname derived from Janson when we were little, and Erell painted himself green and ran through our yard; he was always a little off compared to the rest of us. Erell flinched, but never said a word back. "Ah, and your highness, the Prince of all things narcissistic and vain," you know journal I really do not care if he came out of a royal vagina, he is still an arrogant ass, "Tell me, dear Prince, how is your uncle doing, the Earl of pompous bastards? Still compromising his integrity for harlots? Pity his wife is so old, or I'd take her in myself," I cannot believe I just wrote down 'vagina', journal, "Ah! But wait, that would require a compromise of a little bit more than just integrity on my part. Quite alright though, for I have an inkling her sister is taking… excellent care of her."

Would it be treason to say that on some level, perhaps my father was right about a tongue like mine? Oh they were awful things I said! (all true, yes, but awful) But he and Erell tied me to a plank! A plank! I'd love to ask mother how one is supposed to behave "ladylike" in _that_ situation?

Not that mother really cares to hear what I have to say after that.

As you might be able to conjecture, journal, the Prince found himself speechless, and instead of ordering a beheading, he simply walked over calmly, untied me, then my teddy bear, and hesitated. Erell fell into the background, too scared to walk on anymore eggshells. It was clear a mistake had been made here.

Peeling Soren off the plank, the Prince held him gently and I caught the whimper traveling through my throat. Enough girly embarrassments for one day! I'd already scathed the Prince with enough hatred to leave an emotional scar; additional noises were not necessary. But then something remarkable happened, and even now I sit bewildered by it. The Prince gripped Soren with both hands, thrust him forward, and stiffened. "Take your teddy bear, little girl, and get out of here. I'll spare your life only because it would be a sin to kill a child."

Though the Prince might never know it, that sentence hurt me more than anything I said to him. I was not a child, or a little girl! I was… I was… I am, journal… not a lady, but not a child… no! Never a child. Oh dear now I'm arguing with myself.

I did take my teddy bear and leave, yes, but Erell saw to it that my entire family heard of the disgrace I bestowed. Janson came rushing home to my rescue, but it was too late then. Before I paused to complete my laughter, I had been hiding out in mum's bathroom while Father nursed the Prince's wounded pride downstairs. After he left, Father barged into the bathroom, grabbed you, a few of my belongings, and cast me into the cellar. I can still hear Janson's incredulous voice shouting from upstairs, demanding that I be let out right this instant.

How I love my dear brother, journal. I love him fiercely for coming to my aid. But for now, I only have you and Soren (Janson was able to slip him down through the vent, since he himself cannot fit).

I only have one solid regret for today, and I shall resolve it the next time I see the Prince; I'll punch him squarely in the face. That ought to teach the bugger.

( I had originally planned not to put any sort of thank you section to my reviewers, because I wanted this fanfic to mimic an actual journal, but I simply could not help myself. Thanks to all of you, especially Leah Kesri for fancying my first-person style. I was afraid it would flop. XD Also, thank you to FanFickFanatick for being an avid reviewer, and not missing a single chapter. Bravo! sealednectar, you are my first ever reviewer and for that I will always feel a partialness to you that is unmatchable. Loony Loony Loony Luna, it brings me great pleasure to write out your name! Luna is my favorite character to roleplay, did you know? And as for Livdarcy, last but most definitely not the least in any way shape or form, I extend my gracious talents to you in request to write a combined fic about Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy. I fell in love with the book quite a while ago, and have been meaning to write a story based on it ever since. I see you and I are possibly the perfect candidates to write a brilliant one!

Once again, thank you all for reviewing, and if it pleases you, tell me what you liked/didn't like! I'd love to hear what you all have to say, in terms of plotline as well. Look for my next chapter/entry soon. )


	5. Bella is back!

'Tis true! Bella is back, after two years of hiatus. It has come to my attention, after stumbling upon my own story and reading it once more, that I miss it. I miss Bell and her beloved Soren, and Janson with his big brother-ly manners. And, I hardly got a chance to introduce the Prince! So, since I've already had a full plot sketched out for this, for years mind you, I'm back and ready to write! Much older and more skilled, as well. Following that, I've noticed some discrepancies in previous chapters with technology and era. So, I would just like to say, it is the assumption that this, just like Ella Enchanted, takes place in an alternate universe. All that being said, look for the next chapter within a few days, I'd venture, and I do hope there are still people who wish to read this story!

Bella bows her head in amusement, to you all. Be prepared.


End file.
